


The Other Side of The Hill

by Sharpiefan



Category: Show the Colours (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:05:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had wanted to have more than the simple jumping the broomstick, but had never been able to, not in Portugal, not in Spain, not when they finally got into France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Side of The Hill

**Author's Note:**

> A feel-good fic for sans nom. It got... really rather long. I ended up quoting pretty much the whole of the marriage service – it's from the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, which was in use right up until 1980, when the Alternative Service Book was introduced and 'to obey' was dropped from the woman's part of the vows (and not before time, either!) And I must apologise; I suck at titles.

  
**Title:** _The Other Side of The Hill_  
**Fandom/Canon:** Show the Colours  
**Author:** [](http://sharpiefan.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://sharpiefan.dreamwidth.org/)**sharpiefan**  
**Word count:** 2997  
**Rating:** U  
**Spoilers:** None  
**Pairing/Characters:** Cotton, Maggie, Vickery, Emma Vickery  
**Disclaimer:** All the characters mentioned here are mine, with the exception of Maggie (who belongs to sans) and Joe Newbury, who's the property of [](http://wayward-shadows.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://wayward-shadows.dreamwidth.org/)**wayward_shadows**  
**Author's Note:** A feel-good fic for sans nom. It got... really rather long. I ended up quoting pretty much the whole of the marriage service – it's from the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, which was in use right up until 1980, when the Alternative Service Book was introduced and 'to obey' was dropped from the woman's part of the vows (and not before time, either!) And I must apologise; I suck at titles; the quote is from the Duke of Wellington: "One must always endeavour to find out what one doesn't know by what one does. That's what I called 'guessing at what was on the other side of the hill'."  
**Summary:** They had wanted to have more than the simple jumping the broomstick, but had never been able to, not in Portugal, not in Spain, not when they finally got into France.

They had married in Oporto, seven years ago, yet it had been a ceremony without parson, without vows and was not considered binding by the Church. Their children were considered bastards, although neither Cotton nor Maggie thought of them that way, and nor did anyone else acquainted with them.

They had wanted to have more than the simple jumping the broomstick, but had never been able to, not in Portugal, not in Spain, not when they finally got into France. That Maggie was clearly English and had her name listed among those who had come out to Portugal with the 60th Rifles was the only reason she and her children were given berths aboard one of the transports.

There were no real plans for the future, of course. Cotton would stay in Vickery's service, there was simply no question of him doing otherwise, despite the fact he was married with children. Married in all ways that mattered, that was.

They had settled in quickly enough to the quiet routine of below-stairs life in the country residence of a man who did not go to Town, but simply enjoyed the simple pleasures that life had to offer, now that they were not forever on the march or preparing for the next battle with the French.

The children laughed and played and did not care that they were only surnamed Cotton because their father could not bear to face the truth, and nor could their mother.

The truth simmered under the surface, unspoken. Until the day that Colonel Padstowe proposed to Miss Vickery.

The Colonel had been staying at Ashden Court, a visit that showed no sign of ending before winter set in. The two former officers were comfortable in each other's company, reminiscing over old times, riding out almost every day despite Colonel Padstowe's missing leg (he could afford to have a proper replacement made, one with a foot, and not just a simple peg).

Miss Vickery had called to visit her brother, and had been pressed to stay. Her stay had lengthened into a week, two weeks, despite the proximity of Ashden Court to her own home at Fallbrooke House.

And one day the three of them had ridden out, returning in the evening with Miss Vickery and Colonel Padstowe's engagement confirmed.

Maggie sighed, scrubbing the deal table in the servants' hall, her last chore for the day (she always insisted on doing it herself, despite her position as the Colonel's valet's wife which would have excused her from any duties of that sort).

"Just think of it, Gabe, the gown she'll wear, and the flowers," she said, gazing into the distance.

"An' the church bells an' all," Cotton said, with a smile. "Don't you wish...?"

"We couldn't, not now. Could we...?"

"Why not?"

"We've a child of six, Gabe, and two more besides! The..."

"I wanted you for me wife seven years ago, Maggie, an' I still want you for me wife now. An' it'd be nice to have it all done proper, with the parson and proper vows and all."

"And just who d'you think is goin' to pay for it, Gabe Cotton?" she asked, turning tear-bright eyes towards him.

He grinned and said nothing more, putting his arms around her and bending his head to kiss her.

~ ~ ~

  
Nothing more was said until after Christmas, even though both of them kept thinking about it all, off and on.

And then Miss Vickery came to visit again – her wedding was not until May, after the weather had turned nicer again, and Colonel Padstowe had had time to prepare his own home to receive a new mistress.

Nobody was more surprised on the second morning of Miss Vickery's visit than Maggie when Miss Vickery sent for her. She felt very rough and ignorant around Colonel Vickery and his sister, and couldn't think why Miss Vickery wanted her.

"I understand that you and Cotton are planning on marrying? Properly, in church, I mean," she began, and Maggie nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

"Well, in that case, you're going to need something to wear," Miss Vickery continued, turning to the chest where her gowns were kept.

"Oh, no, oh, don't, there's no need to worry about me, I'll find something," Maggie got out in a rush once Miss Vickery's intentions became clear.

Miss Vickery ignored her and pulled out a day-dress in a soft blue cotton fabric. She held it up against Maggie, looking at it critically. "I think, with a little work, this would be quite suitable," she said, ignoring Maggie's attempted protests. "You're a bit shorter than I am, and I think you might be more comfortable if the waistline were lowered a bit, but I am sure it will be a perfect wedding dress."

Maggie rubbed the soft fabric longingly, but shook her head. "No, I got... I've got plenty of frocks, without taking one of yours, Miss," she said, and Miss Vickery laughed before bundling the gown up and pressing it into her arms. "It's a present, Maggie. Take it, do, and do not be so silly. It is not every day that a woman gets married, after all."

The words brought back a memory, so strongly that Maggie could not reply and when she found breath to speak, she was back in her room – her and Cotton's room – still clutching Miss Vickery's gown and blinking in surprise.

The room was deserted, for now – Cotton was obviously elsewhere in the house. Did she have time to try the dress on? Did she _dare_ try the dress on, was probably the more pertinent question. Wondering at herself a little, she reached to unfasten her bodice and untie the drawstring waist of her skirt, slipping them both off until she stood in stays and chemise. She stroked the soft fabric of the gown again before pulling it on.

It was a gentlewoman's gown, cut with the waistline high under the bust, and didn't look quite right over her stays. Bother. Maybe it would look better if she altered it... No, she couldn't do that, not to one of Miss Vickery's dresses.

A knock on the door startled her, and she spun around, clasping the dress to her to try to hide the fact that she was in a state of complete undress, before common sense reasserted itself. If it was Cotton, he would hardly knock on the door to his own room, after all. "Who is it?" she asked, trying to put some authority into her voice – she had a position to maintain here, as much as Cotton did, after all.

"It's Miss Vickery," came the reply from the other side of the door. "May I come in, please?"

"Oh. I... oh..." Maggie went red, dropped the dress as though it had scalded her and tried to get back into her own clothes. The door opened before she was half-ready for it to, and Miss Vickery slipped into the room, not at all taken aback by Maggie's discomfiture.

"I thought that, maybe, if you were going to wear that gown – and I mean for you to have it for your own – you might need some suitable stays to go under it," Miss Vickery offered, a little shyly, and offered a set of her own stays, clean and new-looking.

"If you had the right sort of stays, you wouldn't have to have the dress altered at all, apart from maybe taking it up at the hem," she continued. "I've only worn these once, they're perfectly good."

Maggie couldn't summon up words to protest about it, and somehow found herself in Miss Vickery's dressing room, smoothing the blue cotton down as she looked at herself in the cheval glass, enchanted with what she saw.

"All you'll need now is a nice bonnet and a bouquet of flowers," Miss Vickery said, smiling, wondering what to do about them.

"You got your own weddin' to plan," Maggie managed to say, looking at the younger woman, who merely smiled back, and said nothing.

~ ~ ~

  
Someone else was also thinking about what was needed. Cotton found himself in the drawing-room that afternoon, having requested a private meeting with Miss Vickery. He had thought about approaching Colonel Vickery, and decided that this was more the sort of thing that his sister would be able to help with.

He twisted his fingers together nervously, trying to work out how to start his probably horribly impertinent request.

"Um. I was thinkin', Miss," he began. Miss Vickery sat there, her hands folded in her lap, watching him with a small smile on her face. "When... when me an' Maggie... when we got wed... in Portugal – only it wasn't a real weddin' like, not like... not with... It wasn't a church weddin', see. Only... only I made her a bit of a... of a posy, see, Miss. A... a couple o' roses an' a spray of orange blossom." He shrugged. "Wasn't much, I know, only it was... it was for her... for Maggie. And I was... I was..."

She smiled encouragingly, and a smile touched his own lips fleetingly before he looked down again.

"Well, Miss, I was wonderin' if... well, if you don't think it... impertinent of me to ask, like... Could I have some... some roses from the garden for her? Please, Miss." He wanted desperately to ask for even a small spray of orange blossom from the orangery as well, but didn't quite dare.

She got up and crossed over to him, making him swallow nervously. "Cotton, you and Maggie are very dear to me – you saved my brother's life. And you have asked neither of us for anything very much in return." She smiled, more widely than he thought he had ever seen. A dimple showed itself in her chin and he couldn't help smiling a little in return

"Of course you may have some roses from the garden. I will choose them myself. And I will ask Phelps for some orange blossom for you, to make a wedding bouquet for your bride."

He smiled gratefully, but couldn't help looking a little worried. "I don't want... I don't want the Colonel to think that... that I was takin' liberties, please, Miss."

"I am sure he won't mind in the least. Not when he knows it was so important to you."

~ ~ ~

  
It was the day of the wedding now, and Cotton was still trying to decide what he ought to wear. It had been so easy, in Portugal, when all he had had to wear was his uniform, and the only way to smarten it up was to wear his blue trousers rather than his workaday coarse brown ones. Not being a liveried servant wasn't helping – he had no sort of a uniform to fall back on. It would have to be his best coat, of course, but what could he wear with it? His best linen shirt, of course, and well, he did have a pair of trousers that he tried to keep for best. He could only hope that they would be considered smart enough. And a neckcloth, of course – although he couldn't be bothered with trying any of the half a hundred ways that the smart young men in Town wore theirs. When it came down to it, he was a simple soul, and so was Maggie.

He smiled. He had managed to slip a note to Sarah, the maid who'd taken Maggie's flowers to her, asking her to leave it where Maggie would be sure to see it.. It was only a simple a note, written in pencil, in his own hand: _Maggie, I love you. Gabriel._

It only seemed like moments later – although it was easily two or three hours later – that they were in the church. The preceding three weeks had seen the banns for their wedding announced, and each time, Cotton had felt his heart in his mouth in case someone might find a reason, any reason, why he could not marry his Maggie in church. The presence of three children was bad enough of course, but they had explained their predicament to the parson, supported by Colonel Vickery, and the parson had been understanding about it. And so had the rest of the parish, it seemed, because nobody had said anything, and here they were, in the church, waiting for the bride.

And there she was, looking even more radiant – if it were possible – than she had that day in Portugal. She was wearing a blue dress, and a pretty straw hat – the sight of them made a lump come into Cotton's throat; she had worn a blue dress on that wedding-day, too. And she was carrying a posy, a bigger posy this time, but still a posy of roses and orange blossom. She had her hand very lightly on Colonel Vickery's arm, as though almost afraid to touch him.

They came up to where Cotton was standing, with Joe Newbury as his groomsman, and stopped, Vickery stepping to the side. Cotton was surprised to realised that Maggie's eyes were damp with tears, although they were shining with an expression that he could not put a name to.

The parson cleared his throat, making Cotton jump a little, and held his Prayer Book up, reading from it. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony..."

Cotton could not take in the words, and had to be nudged when the parson turned to him. Something about did either of them know any reason why they shouldn't be married, he thought it was – Vickery had carefully explained it to them both, knowing that the old-fashioned language was likely to obscure the meaning of the questions put during the ceremony.

"I, er, no, sir," Cotton managed. Maggie could only shake her head.

The parson turned back to Cotton, who felt as though something awful was just about to happen. "Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

He nodded, as firmly as he could. "I will."

He glanced at Maggie as the parson turned to her. "Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Maggie raised her chin, somewhat obstinately. "I will."

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

Vickery stepped forward. "I do."

There was a bit of fumbling at this point, until Cotton was holding Maggie's work-worn right hand in his own strong calloused one.

He repeated after the parson, with several breaks, "I, Gabriel Cotton take thee Margaret Evans, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

And then it was Maggie's turn, and Cotton couldn't help wondering stupidly why the Prayer Book had to be written in such old-fashioned language, although of course he had been used to hearing it every Sunday until he'd enlisted, and fairly infrequently after that.

"I, Margaret Evans, take thee Gabriel Cotton, to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

"Who has the ring?" the parson asked in a low voice, and Newbury fumbled for it. The parson raised his eyebrows fractionally at the glint of gold as Cotton laid it on the book. It had not been off Maggie's hand since he had given it to her in Portugal. A ring made from a golden guinea that he had won at target shooting, and had had melted down for her, and engraved with their names and the year. He had paid for the work with the rest of the coin, and couldn't help wondering what the goldsmith had done with the other half of the coin.

"Take the ring, put it on her finger and repeat after me," the parson said in a quiet voice. Cotton followed his instructions in a bit of a daze.

"With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

They turned to kneel at the altar rail, and the rest of the service passed Cotton in a blur, including the taking of Holy Communion – the first time Cotton could not recall doing so afterwards – and they came out of the church to bright sunlight, and the cheers of the local people, and the ringing of the church bells, which was a complete surprise to Cotton who had not even thought to enquire about them, knowing he could not afford to pay the ringers.

He caught Colonel Vickery's eye and was positive that the Colonel winked at him, before crossing to Maggie and kissing her on the cheek, causing her to go bright red.

"Oh, Maggie," Cotton managed. "I... I hope..."

"It's everything I ever dreamed it could be," she said wonderingly, and Cotton bent his head to kiss his bride.


End file.
